Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence

by Anna Patrick Paige

  Dreams of the Fae—Transcendence Copyright © 2019 Anna Patrick Paige

  First edition published 2019

  All rights reserved. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this literary work are either products of the author's imagination or are use fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-578-59786-7

  Cover Design by KimGDesign

  Edited by Kite String Editing

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Bromly’s Appendices One

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  First, to my granny, who made me believe fairy tales exist, all girls are princesses, and Prince Charming may be waiting around the next corner. The beautiful moments at the Lake House where you channeled my imaginative childhood into a creative muse will always be a part of me.

  Greg, my supportive asshole, thank you for believing in my writing and listening for hours as I blabbered about plot ideas until you tuned me out to keep your sanity. Without you these pages would have remained blank. Thank you for giving me the resources to chase my dreams. Someday I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.

  Dad, I am eternally grateful for everything, and I miss you every day.

  Bug, thanks for always sticking around during the times I lost my mind.

  Axle, because of you I finally turned the story in my head into computer print babble. I love you.

  Ayla, my very own little Fae princess, chase your dreams, because it’s possible.

  Chris, thank you for keeping your promises to my father with shining colors. It has meant everything to me.

  Mom, thank you for telling people I was an amazing author even when you had never read a single word I’d written. It was an odd form of encouragement, but I think it worked.

  Cammy, thank you for a childhood filled with imagination and fairy tales.

  Wendy, my alpha, thank you for letting me use your brilliant mind and giving me everything I needed, even when it was hard. This story would not be what it is without you. Thank you—Thank you—Thank you.

  Janie, the influence you had over a child by sending her books every year for her birthday was colossal. You shaped my love of literature. Thanks for that.

  Sam, you have been such a wonderful friend during this entire process. I doubt I would have made it this far without your encouragement. Thanks for helping me keep the lights on.

  Lastly, my incredible Beta Team!!! Just when I was ready to give up, you put hope back into me and this series. Thank you for the hours of witty banter and shop talk, for loving my characters as much as I do, and for helping me finish the enormous task of writing this monster. I love you all.

  For Granny,

  whose weekends in the Florida sun shaped my imagination and sung me a fairy tale.

  We called it the Riving. The crack in the foundation of the planet that split the crust to the core and stole our dreams.

  The Riving forced us to form peace by the punishment of a bleeding wound—a method to save the planet from our destruction. And to save us, a new power rose to the surface, called by the planet to accept the burden of human corruption.

  Four mortal men, marked by the power of the Riving, became the Divine and split our world.

  The black soil and volcanic fire of Podar.

  The snow-capped stone mountains of Brisleia.

  The windswept grassy plains of Kenara.

  The waterfalls and lush tropical forest of Duval.

  Four distinctly different lands—two bordering the sea, two bordering the Riving.

  With Divine lifeblood sustaining the continent, the world of Athera would forever flourish, but if the bloodline died, then so too would their country, and all life therein would cease to exist.

  It was the duty of the Divine to govern, to protect, to love the land and its people above all else until the Riving sealed.

  Though it would seem the planet left no clues to discern how to unify her, and if there ever was instruction, it had long since been lost to time.

  I started dreaming the day I turned thirteen. An affliction that would get me killed if anyone discovered the secret.

  The ruling Senate at Medial Alexandria explained “dreams” as symptomatic of a disorder called Fae, with onset in early childhood. The Senate had warned the continent of Athera about these criminally insane children since the Riving appeared four thousand years ago, but no one knew exactly why they had been deemed too formidable for society.

  Parents were instructed to watch for signs of the impairment. If affected, the child would claim to see visions in their sleep before the age of ten. The Senate were to be contacted immediately to detain the dangerous individual. Knowingly abetting or harboring a Fae was punishable by death from the Sights of the Onyx Guard.

  So, apparently, I was insane.

  Impaired, criminal, symptomatic.

  Developing the hazardous anomaly past the assumed age.

  Whenever I slept, my mind became a paintable canvas, and the dark, slumbering peace that abided for everyone else in Athera came to life.

  Weightless, I moved through a black abyss abundant with twinkling stars, the curls of my hair hovering about my face. Blue rays of hazy light twisted through the darkness. Mesmerized by the supernatural blank slate, I fixated on the stars until they faded, then drifted through the smoky haze to find the ground. Little plants grew out of the cold, wet soil and tickled my toes. The scent of flowers hung thick in the warm air. I longed to return to the world above, a place where life poured out of me in a fantasy too similar to reality. Who knew dreams felt like a second life?

  How could I be insane? I didn’t feel insane. No one would dare hint at such an atrocity or attempt to condemn the King’s daughter and ignite a futile battle to declare me unfit for society. The Divine were critical to the planet’s survival. Still, I guarded my secret, believing the Fae to be deranged and dangerous.

  The Senate and their Onyx Guard were inescapable, and yet they never came for me. Even so, a prison is still a prison, whether it’s Medial Alexandria or the stone walls of Alamantia Palace.

  Prior to my thirteenth birthday, life was stagnant. Nothing significant or changing. The memories look young and pretty, faded and fogged images of simplicity. I spent days isolated in my apartments, wondering if anything would ever happen to me—until by some tw
isted miracle, “different” occurred.

  When the dreams started, my excitement over having something new to engage my mind warred with my terror over the situation. Eventually, fear triumphed. I began to avoid nightly slumber altogether—and discovered an alarming new phenomenon accompanied my secret: I didn’t suffer from the lack of sleep. Weeks would pass before I finally grew tired and faced the visions.

  I hid the affliction well. Hiding in plain sight was the only way to exist as a Divine royal. The hours I spent forcing myself to be numb to the cunning dukes and eager maids roaming every hallway fueled an intransigent part of my personality. Trusting no one and loving few wasn’t a life, and I ceased to live at all.

  The Onyx Guard kidnapped Dreamers and imprisoned them in Medial Alexandria, but not the daughter of a king who knew how to hold her mystery. After all, dreaming was impossible.

  I opened my eyes to the knock at my chamber door and pulled the heavy fur-lined covers farther up my chest, twisting my fingers into the creamy embroidered satin. It was spring, April. The cold still lingered, but the frost had finally left the ground. The absence of snow didn’t change the frigid Brisleian air that never completely disappeared, even in the summer months.

  I rubbed my fists into my eyes. Eighteen. I was eighteen today and legally an adult under Atheran law.

  “Good evening, Your Highness.” Elizabetta appeared in the arched double doors. She carried a large silver dinner tray, and her delicate arms strained under the weight. The cooks must have sent extra items on this ridiculous holiday.

  She lowered the tray onto the nightstand and uncovered the variety of food. A chicken, leg of lamb, warm bread with butter, cheese pastries, small cakes topped with cherries, strawberries dipped in sugar, and other exotic delicacies covered the platter.

  “You’ve missed the King’s supper.” She shook her head in disapproval, and a strand of burgundy hair fell from her white bonnet. “You don’t sleep for weeks, then choose today to snooze the hours away.” She eased the damask canopy back to the bedpost, leaving the sheer silken veil in place. The gemstones sewn into the lace fabric flittered in the candlelight.

  I narrowed my eyes at her for hinting at my condition. I’d purposefully missed the day’s earlier festivities: dawn’s lantern-releasing ceremony, breakfast, dinner, the parade, supper with the lords of Brisleia.

  “His Divine Majesty will not be pleased.” Raising one eyebrow at my subdued smile, she pushed the tray closer to the edge of the table. “Eat.”

  I grabbed only a strawberry and popped the end into my mouth, sucking the sweet nectar through my teeth and licking sugar from my lips. The late-afternoon sun peeked through the heavy blue velvet curtains. I threw off the fur covers and hopped onto the marble floor. “When are the fireworks?”

  “Tonight, during the ball,” she replied. “I’ve been instructed to ensure that you are at court this evening for the celebration, on pain of excommunication.” She pulled aside the drapery on the behemoth arch that led to the balcony, and I shivered as a flood of chilly air froze the russet marble under my feet.

  I quirked an amused eyebrow. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we? Besides, what’s a party without the guest of honor?”

  Elizabetta had been part of my household since the day I was born. She had arrived in Alamantia shortly before my birth and insisted on serving as nurse to the newly born Divine heir. Oddly entranced, my parents had trusted the strange woman with deep amber eyes and burgundy hair, and she had scooped me into her tender arms and refused to put me down for the majority of my elementary years.

  Long after I outgrew the need for a nurse, she had remained as something even more essential. Beyond a trusted friend, she was a steadfast companion. Constant. Strong. Unstoppable. I had never lived a day without her—a cause for concern when guarding a dangerous secret.

  When the dreams began, her attention to me bordered on alarming. Yet, despite my reluctance to sleep, she never questioned me beyond the occasional banter—“Why don’t you get some rest?”—always followed by a logical explanation: “A Divine Princess should never look tired.” If anyone was going to discover my condition, it would be her.

  The evening sun painted the sky purple and orange over the half-circle balcony jutting into my private garden. Below, cobblestone pathways and minimal flora led to a stone fountain in the garden’s center, which was flowing for the first time in months now that the ice had thawed. A thick layer of roses covered the garden’s marble privacy walls. The faint sound of music and cheering floated in from the city as the citizens of Alamantia celebrated my birthday.

  I tossed the strawberry aside, eyeing a little blue bird making her home inside the willow tree in the back corner. She disappeared into the low-hanging branches that feathered and swayed in the chilly breeze.

  “Spring. Spring.”

  I sunk my head into my hands, trying to suffocate my mind. For the last month, I’d started hiding a bizarre new symptom: hearing voices. Medial Alexandria’s records of the Dreamers never mentioned this one.

  Failing to shut out the clamor, I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Cold water. Spring.”

  Annoying chatter.

  Elizabetta slipped my heaviest fur robe around my shoulders, smoothing the fabric and easing my arms into the ample sleeves. As she finished, she smacked a blue bird flitting relentlessly around our heads. The poor thing lost the wind and almost hit the ground before finding its wings and flying away.

  “Elizabetta!” I scolded.

  “Pesky things.” She pushed me back into the security of my bedchamber.

  Elizabetta hated animals. She shooed away birds, cats, and mice and kept me away from horses. She tolerated only the King’s hunting dogs. Sometimes it seemed as if she had made it her life’s work to keep me isolated.

  Inside, my three ladies had returned. The girls, all wearing matching champagne-colored gowns, giggled while straightening my bed covers.

  First, Camille Lamare, the daughter of the duke of Daraban. Much to our father’s dismay, my brother and I favored the Lamare family, and Camille fancied Prince Luken, but so did most girls at court.

  Next, Daphne Wallington, the little sister of the Unity Knight of Justice. She had been placed in my household a year ago by the King. One consequence of keeping a small household—it left positions open for His Majesty’s enjoyment. Daphne’s family was the embodiment of everything I despised about court. The Wallingtons were ambitious wolves, ready to devour any competition standing between them and their close connection to the Divine.

  Lastly, Melody Hothburg, the daughter of the duke of Varanus. I found her nonthreatening.

  My apartments consisted of five rooms in the eastern wing of the palace. Carved rose reliefs, detailed in pearl and glass, decorated the marble floor, and ornate gold trim gilded every arch and curve of the white quartz walls. Extravagant lace inlaid with tiny diamonds curtained around chairs, pillars, and doorframes. Bear rugs lined the floor in a plush half-circle seating area by the alabaster fireplace.

  I spent most of my time in these apartments. Unlike my older brother, I would never rule a country. Forming alliances and becoming knowledgeable in the laws of the land were not my roles. My duty was to display happiness to the people of Brisleia, stay beautiful and desirable, and above all maintain a standard of modesty for young women. Yet I performed these roles poorly, or so I was told. I wore my emotions too openly. It was easier to stay asocial, locked away with my books.

  Elizabetta pushed me down onto the tiny gilded stool in front of my vanity and vigorously combed the mess of almond curls extending past my waist. She snagged a stubborn strand and yanked my head back from the force of her pull. A mildly painful pop sounded when the curl snapped.

  I slapped the comb. “That hurts!”

  “Your Highness.” Camille’s reflection appeared in the mirror. “Your gifts from the King and queen have arrived.”

  I pushed the comb from my head. Elizabetta grunted
in defeat as I trotted through the aureate double doors leading into the receiving room.

  One immense window, stretching all the way to the carved walnut ceiling, let plenty of light into the room. Today it was open, allowing the spring breeze to eradicate the stale winter air. The vast chamber contained a curved staircase ascending to a second floor, which housed an extraordinary collection of books. Fancily decorated gift boxes crowded the pitcher of wine and fruit bowls on the lace-covered table, and layers of lavish dress fabrics were draped over the blue-upholstered chairs.

  My ladies looked anxiously upon the many trinkets. I nodded my permission, and they scattered around the room, squealing with delight, opening each box and admiring its contents.

  The gifts emerged in the form of chocolates and candies, fine white cotton, dress dyes, shoes, and jewels.

  “There is nothing here from Podar, Your Highness,” Daphne noted with a disapproving twist of her lips. “How appalling.”

  I ignored her, and Melody captured my attention with a new book of dress patterns.

  Elizabetta plucked the booklet from my hands. “Your father waits for no man,” she tutted.

  “It’s convenient I’m a woman,” I replied.

  She frowned, unamused, and rushed me back to my vanity. An eighteen-year-old Princess stared back at me from the mirror. Fair skin. No marring. No blemishes. No distinguishing marks, except one—the Mandala.

  The symbol of my Divinity stretched over my skin like a scar, shimmering with a muted glow. The silvery-white pattern of filigree spirals began at the edge of my forehead and covered my temple. It receded under my hairline and wrapped around my ear to spread down the side of my neck and spill over my shoulder. The intricate design glared at me—a reminder of what I meant to the people of Athera.

  The Mandala connected us to the Riving and tied the life of each Divine to the continent. As long as the Divine lived, the country would flourish, but if a nation’s bloodline died, so would everything else. Many gave their lives in defense of the Divine, but there were always those who sought to destroy us. For these reasons, royal families stayed locked behind palace walls.